


The Prodigal Son Returns

by anotherfngrl



Series: Gil's Kid [1]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Discipline, Gen, Good Parent Gil Arroyo, Malcolm Bright Gets a Hug, Pre-Canon, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23373991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherfngrl/pseuds/anotherfngrl
Summary: Gil has loved Malcolm like he was his own since the kid was 10. When Malcolm gets kicked out of the FBI, Gil reflects on the child he was, as he prepares to help the man he's become. WARNING: Contains nonsexual, disciplinary spanking of a minor, by a father figure.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Jessica Whitly, Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright
Series: Gil's Kid [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1681132
Comments: 22
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the beginning/prequel to a father/son discipline series that will follow the episodes of the show.

Gil has always kept an ear to the ground, when it comes to Malcolm. He understands why the kid wanted some distance from New York, but it's always worried him, having Mal so far from home. And stung, honestly- like it wasn't only the city Malcolm wanted to escape, but his family as well. Including Gil and Jackie.

'Malcolm Bright' sailed through Quantico with flying colors. He didn't make friends, but he aced every test. Gil tried to remind him these people would be his co-workers, his  _ partners _ one day, but Malcolm would only pout- "It doesn't matter if they like me, I'm  _ right _ !"

It was the same tone the eleven year old version had taken, when he'd had disagreements at school. Malcolm was brilliant, dedicated, and so thoughtful, but the person he'd looked up to and loved most had been a monster- was it any wonder he didn't trust the other kids? That he called them out for lying, for cheating, for anything he thought proved they weren't worthy of trust? Gil understood, but it led to a lot of schoolyard fights. And, as Jessica struggled to cope with the trial and shrank from the reporters at her door, it fell more and more to him to pick up the pieces in the Principal's office afterwards.

He understood Malcolm's point of view, but he also understood the school's. Malcolm was  _ instigating  _ the conflicts, even if he was never the one to make them physical. The boy had stubbornly refused to acknowledge the distinction. And the trouble was, nobody was perfect. Least of all middle schoolers. So Malcolm looked for secrets, and flaws. And he found them in everyone.

Gil remembers sitting down with an eleven year old Malcolm, a year after his father had been arrested. He'd just picked the boy up from school early, for starting another fight. It had become such a regular occurrence that, even after being promoted to detective after catching The Surgeon, he'd stayed on the evening shift, so he was available for Malcolm.

Malcolm sat beside him on the bed in 'his' room at Gil's house, a little unsure. Usually, Gil took him home after he got in trouble at school. Gil and Jackie's was his favorite place to be, and the adults had all agreed that getting to go over to their house after being sent home would be a reward. Gil could tell Malcolm knew something was up. He hated how stressed the kid was, how unsure all the time. He hated to see the split in Malcolm's lip from today's fight, and the almost healed yellow splotch on his cheekbone from the week before. Malcolm never came out ahead when things got physical.

He also hated the idea of Malcolm losing what little stability he had left. But the Principal had been very clear. If Malcolm was involved in another fight this semester, he would be suspended. If it happened again, they would expel him. So he'd left Mal in the car long enough to call Jessica. She'd cried- generations of Milton's have attended the Albany Academy. She'd begged Gil to find some way to get through to Malcolm, to break him out of this recalcitrant cycle.

Now, Gil was faced with possibly the hardest thing he'd ever had to do as a quasi-father figure. They'd all been treating Malcolm with kid gloves over the past year, trying to support him through what had happened. Malcolm had made the choice that changed everything, after all- and that was a huge burden, in addition to the loss of his father. But Gil saw the way the kid was spiraling, and he knew gentle admonishments weren't going to be enough to break through the shell of misery that was growing around Malcolm. And he knew that, if he let that shell continue to grow, he'd never reach Malcolm past it.

So he sat down on the bed beside his surrogate son. "Nobody's perfect, kiddo," he said, an awkward start, but a very important point.

Malcolm looked at him like he was a moron. "I know that. People are terrible."

"That's just the thing. They aren't. Most people are fundamentally good. They just have things… things they've done, things they feel, that aren't great. Everyone has those. One bad moment doesn't make a person bad," Gil explains.

"What if that one bad moment is killing someone?" Malcolm challenges, chin set stubbornly.

"For most people, it isn't. And sometimes, even killing someone isn't a sign a person is bad." Gil takes a deep breath. This will either make or break them, he's sure. But aside from his partner, Jackie, and the department shrink, he's never said these words to another person, and they're hard to force out now. "I killed a man once. I had to. He was about to hurt an innocent woman. Does that make me bad?"

"Did you enjoy it?" Malcolm asks, guarded and pressing. But he's staying put, not edging away. Gil wishes it was a sign of trust, worries it's just a lack of self preservational instinct.

"No. Absolutely not. I threw up in an alley when it was over. I'd only been on the force a little more than a year. And I knew I never, ever wanted to kill anybody again. But I also knew I would do it in a heartbeat, to save an innocent life," he admits to Malcolm carefully.

"That's okay, then. You're not bad, Gil. You're not like  _ them _ ." Malcolm spits the word with such menace, and Gil's heart cracks.

"I am, though, kid. I'm just as bad as 90% of the people you see every day, because we  _ aren't  _ bad people. We just all have bad moments. Even you. You knew you were breaking your promise to me and your mom when you said that to Ben, didn't you?" he asks.

"It was true. Ben  _ does _ watch Amy all the time. He's like, her stalker," Malcolm insists, deflecting the question.

"I didn't say it wasn't true. I said you were breaking your promise," Gil reminds him.

"It's not my fault Ben has anger management issues," Malcolm pouts. "He's practically got borderline personality disorder."

"We've talked about spreading other people's secrets." Gil pauses. "Borderline personality disorder… Malcolm, have you been looking through your father's medical books again?"

It had been a problem, at first- Malcolm, desperate to understand, had read any psychology book he could find in his dad's office, diagnosing everyone around him with extreme disorders. Jessica had walled off Martin's basement office and locked the room upstairs he'd kept medical texts in.

Malcolm looks unbelievably shifty. "Knowledge is never a bad thing."

"Malcolm Charles Whitley, how did you get your hands on them?" Gil asks, stern as he's ever been with the kid.

Malcolm slides away from him on the bed, hunching his shoulders. "I waited till the maid was cleaning that room, then I broke a vase in the hall. She didn't lock it when she went to clean up the mess."

Gil stares at him. The kid will stop at  _ nothing _ when he thinks he's right. He's  _ got _ to teach him some personal responsibility- Malcolm is smart enough to get away with a lot, and damaged enough by what's happened that he could very easily pull away from other people forever.

"Where are the books now?" he asks sternly.

"Under my bed," Malcolm admits, shifting to sit on his hands. Gil has seen the way his hand trembles when he's nervous, these days.

He reaches out to rest a comforting hand on the back of the kid's neck. "You never do anything by halves, do you, kid?" Malcolm doesn't respond, or look at him. "So let me get this straight. Today, you broke your promise to me and your mom by deliberately upsetting Ben. Whether it was true or not- you knew it was hurtful, didn't you?" Malcolm doesn't respond. "Before that, you snuck around and broke the rules- and your Mother's trust- to get into your dad's office. Hiding things you know you aren't supposed to have in your room is the same thing as lying, Malcolm.  _ And _ you destroyed your Mother's vase, to help you with your scheme, which you  _ knew _ you shouldn't be doing."

Malcolm finally looks up at him, eyes wide, and he's suddenly shaky. Gil watches him, concerned. "I didn't mean to, Gil, I swear, I'm not like him, I'm not bad, I swear. I wouldn't, I promise,  _ I was RIGHT _ ," he insists, desperate and guilty.

"Malcolm, calm down, kid, you're okay." Gil pulls him into a hug, trying to shelter him from the wild storm in his own head. "You're alright, kid, I'm right here and I've got you Mal, just breathe."

Malcolm doesn't try to push him away, which Gil is absurdly grateful for, but he continues shaking like a leaf. So Gil tries to explain. "Everybody does stuff they aren't proud of sometimes, kid. Those mistakes don't define you. That's what I've been trying to explain. We make mistakes, we regret them, we deal with the consequences, and we move on, and learn not to make them again."

It's the 'deal with the consequences' part Gil is dreading now. He'd been committed to punishing Mal even before he'd found out about the books. But he  _ hates _ the idea of upsetting the kid when he's already so shaken up.

"I'm sorry, Gil, I'm sorry, please," Malcolm begs from the shelter of his arms. 

"Woah, hey, you're gonna be okay. You made some bad choices, and you're in trouble, but I've got you, and I'll keep you safe. I promise," Gil assures him.

"I'm not bad, I promise, Gil. I just made a mistake!" Malcolm wails.

"Happens to all of us, kid. What matters is what we do next. In this case, how you take your punishment and make amends- to your Mom and Ben," Gil reassures him, rubbing the back of Malcolm's neck as the kid presses into him hard and Gil just hugs him tight.

"P-punishment?" Malcolm asks nervously, having obviously picked up on that part of the sentence and heard nothing that came after. Gil will talk to him about apologies later.

Gil has scolded the kid before, but he's never punished him. Jessica usually sends Mal to his room for the rest of the evening when he's sent home from school- and only now do they know he was using that time to study the defects of the human mind, slipping more and more into his own confused understanding of what he read. This is new territory for both of them, and Malcolm sounds as nervous as Gil feels.

"Do you think you deserve to be in trouble?" Gil asks him gently, pushing him back just far enough that he can see the kid's eyes.

Malcolm looks up at him apprehensively, clearly not happy about the answer but afraid to add another lie to the list. "I broke my promises, and lied, and hid things," he admits, grudgingly.

"And you broke your mom's vase on purpose and upset Ben, on purpose. And whether you think you had good reasons- even if you were trying to get to the truth- those were not kind things to do, were they?" Gil asks sternly. He knows Malcolm values honesty. Now, he wants the kid to reconnect with the sense of empathy he's so afraid of.

"No," Malcolm admits nearly silently, his lip trembling. "I always thought Ben was nice, till I saw how he watches Amy and worried what he'd do to her."

"Probably he was just working up the nerve to ask her out. Not everybody who has a secret keeps it because they want to hurt someone," Gil tells him. "And we have to respect other people's privacy. Even as a cop, I have to think about that on the job."

"I'm sorry, Gil. I know I was bad," Malcolm admits, looking far younger than eleven.

"You did something bad. You're still a good person," Gil corrects him. "And your mom and Jackie and I all think it's important to learn from your mistakes, and to learn to accept the consequences when you make them." Gil tries to keep his own nervousness out of his voice.

"What are you going to do?" Malcolm asks. Gil still has a hand wrapped around the back of the kid's neck, and he strokes his thumb across it gently, soothing him.

"Have you ever been spanked before?" Gil asks. Jessica hadn't been sure- she'd admitted Martin handled most of the discipline in their house, and he'd never told her he'd spanked Malcolm, but they all knew there were plenty of things Martin hadn't felt the need to tell his wife.

"No," Malcolm said, his voice trembling a little. "But I know what a spanking is. It's gonna hurt a lot, isn't it?" he asks.

"For a little while," Gil admits. "But you know I would never do anything that would really hurt you, right, kid? You know you're safe."

"I trust you," Malcolm told him softly. "But Gil? I'm scared."

Gil couldn't resist- he tugged Malcolm to sit in his lap, hugging the kid tight and whispering into his hair, "Me too, kid, me too." He'd never spanked anyone before in his life. But this was important.

Gil held Malcolm close for a long moment, giving him what reassurance he could. He'd planned to make Malcolm's first spanking a light one- a preview of what to expect when he misbehaved. He'd been brought up that spankings never happened over pants, but he'd intended to let the kid keep his underwear up and only use his hand.

Now, though, Malcolm has a lot to answer for- the lies and sneaking and breaking things. And he can't minimize that. So Malcolm is going to get his first spanking and his first taste of the spoon, all at once. Gil's heart goes out to the kid, but the lesson is too important to skip. Mal is too clever to grow up thinking it's okay to lie and manipulate in his quest for truth.

Finally, he shifts his kid to stand in front of him, between his legs. Malcolm knows what's coming, and looks down nervously.

"Do you remember the spoon hanging on the wall in the kitchen?" he asks. Malcolm nods. He's twisting his hands together worriedly, and Gil takes them in his own, rubbing his knuckles and coaxing Malcolm to look at him. "That used to be my mom's. She gave it to me when Jackie and I got married and became our own family. It hung in my mom's kitchen my whole childhood, except when she took it down to use it on my butt. It's not a cooking spoon, it's a spanking spoon. I used to get spanked with it when I was really naughty. And I think you deserve it today." 

Malcolm swallows hard, but nods bravely. Gil is unbelievably proud of the kid. "I want you to go get it for me," he tells Malcolm gently, shifting both of the kid's hands into his left one so he can cup his neck with the right. "Think you can handle that?"

Malcolm steels himself before nodding once, hard. He's got tears in his eyes already, poor kid. Gil kisses his forehead. "Good boy. Go on." He turns Malcolm towards the door, giving him a little slap on his thin bottom when he hesitates. Malcolm jumps, rushing to comply.

Gil steels himself as he waits for Malcolm to return. This is going to be hard, but he's committed to the choice, and to doing what's best for Malcolm. He and Jackie have tried and failed to have kids of their own, and neither of them could love Malcolm more if they'd given birth to him. Sometimes, doing what's best for the kid will mean breaking his own damn heart.

Malcolm returns with the spoon, his lip trembling and his eyes glassy with tears. Interestingly, the tremor that crops up in his hand when he's stressed isn't present- Gil hopes that means the kid knows he's safe.

"C'mere," he coaxes, pointing to a spot between his spread legs. Mal comes nervously, handing him the spoon.

"Spankings will always happen with your pants down," Gil narrates as he lowers the boy's school khakis. "If you've been really naughty, then after I warm you up your underwear will come down too," he warns.

"Like today," Malcolm surmised nervously.

"Exactly right. Now, when I spank you I'm going to put you over my lap. When your bottom's sore you may not be able to stay still, and that's okay, but if you try to fight me you'll get extra spanks. Same goes for putting your hands back to block me. You earn a spanking, I expect you to be a good boy and take it. Understood?" Gil asks, wrapping a warm hand around the back of Malcolm's neck to steady him.

"Yes, sir," Malcolm whispers quietly, the anxiety radiating off of him in waves.

"Then let's get this over with, alright? Over you go," Gil tells him gently, turning Malcolm and bending him across his left knee, his torso resting on the bed. The small body slides easily into place, Malcolm's tiny bottom centered over his knee, legs hanging between Gil's spread ones. This way, he can restrain the kid if he needs to.

"Why are you getting a spanking?" he asks Malcolm, rubbing his back as he waits for an answer, hoping his touch is soothing.

"I broke my promise and I lied and snuck around to get the books, and broke Mom's vase." Malcolm's voice is teary already.

"Those were all very naughty things to do," Gil agrees, "but there's one more thing, isn't there? Who were you mean to?" Gil prompts.

"B-ben," Malcolm admits shakily, jumping when Gil rests his hand lightly on his well displayed bottom.

"Very good," Gil tells him warmly. "I'm going to spank you for all of those things, now," he warns.

Malcolm tenses as Gil raises his hand, and the first swat falls. Gil is starting off easy, figuring he'll give the kid a light warmup so he sees Gil won't really hurt him. Still, Malcolm's whole body jumps on impact, and again for the second swat on his other cheek.

Gil hardens his resolve, and continues spreading light, stingy swats across the boy's small bottom, left and right, up and down each cheek. Malcolm is clearly trying to be brave, but he quickly begins yelping with each spank, and the pained cries are like a knife through Gil's heart.

He continues the warm-up until the skin peaking out from Malcolm's briefs is a rosy pink, warm but not red, or hot. It's enough to warm him up, and make sure he's read for the real lesson.

"Alright, buddy, time to get these down," he says gently, tugging at Malcolm's briefs. He's surprised when the kid's hands fly back to stop him.

"No, Gil, no! It  _ hurrrts  _ enough this way! I wasn't, wasn't that naughty!" Malcolm cries, trying to push Gil's hands away from his underwear.

Gil did warn him. "You don't get to decide that, Malcolm," he tells the boy, landing a real, punishing swat on the top of his left thigh. Malcolm  _ shrieks _ , and he follows it immediately with an equally hard one to the right. Malcolm kicks frantically, but Gil holds him in place and keeps walloping the backs of his legs.

"You were  _ very  _ naughty, and you hurt people's feelings and broke your word. Your bare bottom deserves a spanking so you remember why that's not okay. And I told you what would happen if you tried to stop your spanking, didn't I?" Gil asks.

"Sorry, sorry, I stopped, please, no more!" Malcolm begs. "See, Gil? I stopped! Now you stop!" Malcolm has indeed stopped blocking Gil's access to his underwear. Gil is about to pull them down when it occurs to him that Malcolm is not in control here, and shouldn't think that he is.

"You don't tell me when to stop, kid." Gil gives him two more whacks. "You've got six more smacks on your legs coming, then we'll get back to your spanking."

Malcolm sounds hysterical as he begs and pleads his way through the six smacks, a constant stream of, "No, no, please, Gil, please, NOOOOO!" that leaves his little body exhausted and heaving sobs at the end of it. He's not hurt- his thighs are only slightly redder than the edges of his bottom, not even as red as he'll be at the end of his spanking. But he's completely overwrought.

This is all very new to Malcolm, Gil reminds himself. And scary. He's not used to pain at the hands of those who love him. Physical pain, anyway- Martin did a number on him psychologically. So instead of tugging the briefs down and getting right back to work, he pauses, rubbing Malcolm's back.

"Why did you get those extra smacks on your legs?" he asks Malcolm softly.

"Y're in charge, not me," Malcolm sniffles. "Can't tell you no. S'okay that I can't, though, you're one of the good adults. Safe. S'why I gotta listen to you."

Gil is reassured by this over-explanation- he's worried about spanking the kid, honestly, but if Malcolm can tell him, hanging over his knee sobbing about his pink bottom, that Gil is 'safe', they're going to be just fine.

"Good boy," he says softly, tosseling Mal's hair. "Now, you've still got the rest of your spanking coming, right?" Malcolm nods miserably. "I think you need a minute to calm down, before we get back to that, kid. Sit up for me."

He'd intended to put Malcolm in the corner to calm down, but the second the boy was upright, he'd clung desperately to Gil, and he hadn't had the heart to move him. Malcolm's whole body is trembling, and he only holds his surrogate son close and pets the hair covering the boy's neck. "Shh, shh, you're okay, it'll hurt for a little while, but you're okay," he assures the kid.

Malcolm's trembling has eased and he's sniffling with leftover sobs when he asks, "Gil?"

Gil had been thinking it was about time to continue the punishment, but something about the uncertainty in Malcolm's voice makes him think he'd better see what the kid needs, first. "Yeah, Mal?" he asks, tilting Malcolm back to face him but keeping a steadying hand on the kid's neck.

"D'you, I mean, d'you think…" Malcolm's breathing stutters, like he's on the verge of bursting into sobs again.

"Woah, kid, woah, just breathe. You're okay. I've got you! Malcolm, sweetheart, take a breath with me, nice and easy, and try again," he coaches.

Malcolm puts his hand on Gil's chest and breathes with him, just like they taught him to do for panic attacks. Finally, he speaks, quiet and unsure. "D'youstilllovemeeventhoughIwasbad?" Malcolm asks finally, the words all coming out as one.

Gil thinks  _ he _ might cry. "Kid… Malcolm. Look at me." Shakily, Malcolm obeys. "Of course I still love you, Malcolm. So much. That's  _ why _ I'm doing this. Because I love you, and I care about the kind of lessons you're learning and the kind of person you grow up to be. Just like my mom did with me."

"Oh." Malcolm considers this solemnly. "Gil, I don't like spankings." 

Gil can't help it, he smiles, hiding a chuckle. Sometimes, Malcolm is just too adorable. "I know, kid, that's kind of the point. Should we go ahead and get this one over with?" 

Malcolm buries his face in Gil's neck, but nods tentatively. Gil presses a kiss to the top of his head before pulling the kid gently back across his lap. Malcolm whimpers as Gil pulls his briefs down to his knees, and Gil forces himself to continue.

"Why is it important to be honest?" Gil asks, giving Malcolm a firm smack to his newly bared bottom. Malcolm arches his back, whining. Gil gives him another spank, encouraging him to answer.

"Can't trust me if I lie. If I'm… sneaky," Malcolm gets out between spanks. "Owww, it hurrrts, Gil!"

"I know, kid. It's supposed to," Gil tells him, not unsympathetic. "Why was it wrong to break your Mom's vase?"

"Sneaking and… and she liked it, it was hers, not mine. I didn't think about how she'd be sad," Malcolm tells him, already beginning to sound teary. The boy's bottom had cooled while Gil held him, but the sting has obviously returned with a vengeance as Gil methodically slaps the quivering pink cheeks before him.

"Good, Malcolm. Very good. Now, reading the books and what you said to Ben- both of those were things your mom, Jackie and I have all told you not to do, weren't they?" he asks next, still spanking rhythmically, bringing his hand down firmly but not harshly- Malcolm is just a little boy. Gil wants this to be an uncomfortable lesson, but he has no intention of really hurting the kid, and the last thing he wants to do is make Malcolm afraid of him.

"Yessss, Gil, sorry! I'm sorry, Gil!" Malcolm assures him frantically, his toes clenching and unclenching as he processes the sting in his rear. "I'll list- listen! I'll be good!" the kid howls.

"And what about poor Ben?" Gil asks him sternly, focusing his spanks low on Malcolm's bottom as he waits for a response.

"Was mean, made him feel- feel bad! Not my secret!" Malcolm assures him, crying. The boy's upset is out of proportion to the punishment, but Gil isn't surprised- Malcolm never does anything small. Taking into account the big feelings the punishment is dredging up, Gil figures it's time to get to the last part.

"That's exactly right, Malcolm," Gil tells him, reaching for the spoon. "You think about how your actions make other people feel, and what's more important, finding things out or feelings and trust, while I finish your spanking." He rests the spoon on Malcolm's right cheek as he speaks, warning the boy of what's coming.

Malcolm only sobs in response. Gil makes quick work of the paddling- barely lifting the spoon but bringing it down over and over, fast and stingy, across his naughty boy's bottom. He wants this over with as much as he's sure Malcolm does. 

Finally, after about a minute of light paddling, when Malcolm's whole little bottom is a soft red and he's twisting his hips and begging Gil to stop, he decides it's enough. He sets the spoon to the side.

"What are you not going to do anymore?" he asks Malcolm, giving him a little smack to the middle of his bottom with his hand.

"Lie, or sn-sneak or break my word or be meeeeeean!" Malcolm wails, not seeming to realize Gil isn't spanking him anymore.

"Good boy. All done, kid. We're finished, you're forgiven. C'mere, kiddo," Gil says, rolling Malcolm over in his lap to hold him.

Malcolm cries out, arching his back when his sore bottom makes contact with Gil's thigh, and he winces sympathetically and adjusts the kid so his much less red thighs are holding his weight. Malcolm whimpers and buries his face in Gil's neck.

He'd held the kid for a long time while he cried, eventually helping the drowsy boy slip into pajamas for a nap. That night, Jackie had made the kid enchilada soup, his favorite, and his mom and Ainsley had joined them at the Arroyo house for supper. He'd been proud as punch when Mal apologized to his mom about the vase, without promoting.

The plan had been for Malcolm to go home with his mom and sister after dinner, Gil remembers, but Malcolm had pleaded to stay, needing to be close to know for sure his surrogate father had really forgiven him. Gil had wound up spending the night sitting propped up against Malcolm's headboard, sleeping with his beloved son curled into his side. He still has the picture Jackie took when she got up the next morning, in the photobook he keeps on his desk at work.

It was the first time he'd ever spanked Malcolm for his refusal to play nice with others, but far from the last, despite the kid's always good intentions in the aftermath of a spanking. So Gil can't say he's shocked when word makes it down the pipeline that genius profiler Malcolm Bright is being let go from the FBI, following yet another incident of humiliating local officials.

He figures it's fifty-fifty whether Malcolm will call him. On the one hand, the kid lives for the job. He's probably crushed. On the other, he knows just how dim of a view Gil takes of his habit of running roughshod over people's feelings when he's sunk his teeth into a mystery.

He's still surprised when it's Jessica who calls, a few days later. "Have you spoken to Malcolm?" she asks immediately.

"Not in a couple of months. He's been busy, I assume," Gil tells her, feigning ignorance.

"Oh, don't pull that with me. I know you've heard. You've kept an eye on him ever since he left for Quantico. But what you may not know…" Here, Jessica falters, surprising him. "He's back. You know he's got the loft, here in town. Well, he's moved back in, this morning. And I'm glad to have him back, but Gil- he looks like hell. Whatever happened on his last case, it was hard for him. And he knows you'll be disappointed in him, so I don't know how long it will take for him to call you," Jessica confides.

"So you thought you'd speed up the process?" Gil says with a smile. They disagree sometimes on what's best for Malcolm, but one thing Gil's got to hand to Jessica- they both want nothing but what's best for him, fiercely. So, even though Jessica had thrown a glass at his head, the day Mal got accepted into the FBI- blaming him, probably fairly, for her son's interest in law enforcement- she's calling him, because she knows what Malcolm needs right now: his surrogate father.

"He's meeting Ainsley this afternoon for a walk along the river. Their usual spot," Jessica tells him carefully. "They're having lunch."

"I'll pick him up, after. Give him something to do with that big brain of his while he figures out where he's headed next," Gil promises. 

"Thank you, Gil. I know how much you love him. And you must know how much he looks up to you," Jessica says.

"Love him like he was my own," Gil tells her gruffly.

"And I thank God every day that it was you who answered that call. I honestly don't know what would've become of him without you, Gil, after…" she trails off.

"Luckily, we'll never have to find out," Gil reassures her. "I'll talk to him today."

"Wonderful. I'm going to have the children over for dinner tomorrow night- would you like to join us?" she asks kindly. He has dinner with her and Ainsley about once a month, since Jackie died. Oddly matched though they may be, the Whitleys and the Arroyos have been family for a long time.

"I probably won't be able to get away," he says regretfully. "We've got a bad one right now, and we're pulling out all the stops before he kills again." He sees no reason to upset Jessica with the news that it's a copy cat of the Surgeon's work- he's sure if they don't solve it soon, Ainsley will dig that little tidbit up for herself.

"Well, we always have a seat for you, Gil. I'll talk to you soon," Jessica tells him.

"Take care of yourself, Jessica," he says, "and I'll take care of our boy," disconnecting the call.

Holding the phone to his chin, he takes a deep breath- then heads to the chief's office to get started on consultant paperwork. Bright will spin himself into fits if he doesn't have something to occupy his mind- better to just go ahead and give the kid a project. Whatever comes in next, Gil hopes he can use a profile.

  
  
  
  



	2. Malcolm in New York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fired from the FBI, Malcolm realizes there's nothing holding him in Virginia anymore. So he pours himself a stiff drink and calls his Mother. But once he's back, he can't help worrying- he's screwed up like this before. What if this time, Gil doesn't forgive him?  
> An examination of the reasons Malcolm didn't call Gil when he got home, and a memory of the *last* time Malcolm punched a cop, and what his surrogate father had to say about it.
> 
> Warning: there is consensual, disciplinary spanking in this fic. Mal is all grown up now, but he still needs his Gil.

Malcolm spends the evening after the FBI fires him wishing it was a good idea to drink on his medication. It isn't, so he tries yoga, tries going for a run, wishes he had a friend to call. But there's no one- nothing, he realizes abruptly, ties him to this city anymore. Nothing ties him anywhere, really.

Except the one place he doesn't want to go back to. New York. His family is there, of course- but Mom will be thrilled he's been fired, and insist this is a chance to give up profiling, Ainsley's got her own life to worry about, and Gil will be so disappointed in him. Going home, back to the town where Martin Whitley broke him, feels like failure.

Still, he doesn't know what else to do. So he allows himself a rare drink and, with great reluctance, calls his mother.

***

"I don't know why you  _ insist _ on flying commercial," Mother harumphs when he slides into the car beside her. "Anything could happen on one of those flights."

"Well it didn't, and I'm here. So unless you're expecting me to hop on another flight back out of New York, there's really no more point in talking about it, is there?" Malcolm asks, knowing he's being horrendously rude but too done in to stop himself. His sleep has been plagued with nightmares, worse than usual, even. Coming home will do that to a guy.

"Don't be silly, you aren't going anywhere. You're coming home to get some rest, and tomorrow the rest of your things will arrive and we'll get the loft set up. I've made us an appointment at 11:30 with an interior decorator- I was fine with you using the space to house your collection, but if you'll be living there full time, we need something cheerier on the walls than murder weapons. It needs to feel like a  _ home _ ," his mother announces, without even a hint that she thinks he might object.

"I collect the weapons because I like them, Mother. A home should be filled with things that make you happy, right? I'm leaving them up. Adolpho, drop me at the loft, please," Malcolm calls up front.

"Don't be ridiculous. We can discuss decor later- I haven't seen you in weeks, you simply must come home!" his mother insists. When he doesn't relent, she adds, "It isn't even ready!"

"I've got a change of clothes, toiletries, and my meds. Is my furniture still there?" She nods, reluctantly. "Restraints still on the bed?"

"Malcolm!" she tries, one last time.

"No, mother," Malcolm says firmly.

"Malcolm, that house was my home long before your father set foot inside and has been my home since long after he was arrested. It's been in my family-  _ our _ family- for generations. Martin Whitley doesn't define our home, Malcolm, or our family," she insists, the very picture of the proud society matriarch.

Malcolm bristles. "Well, he defines my memories!" he thunders, too loud for the car. His mother makes a small, hurt noise.

"You always preferred the Arroyo's house. I tried to make better memories for our family, Malcolm. I'm still trying," she tells him softly. Sadly.

Malcolm feels like a heel. And mention of the Arroyos makes him wince- Jackie'd have had him over  _ her _ knee, before Gil had the chance, if she'd heard him talk to his mother like this.

"Mom, I'm sorry," he says quietly. "The night terrors have been worse, the last two nights. Since I started thinking about coming back. I really can't handle a night at home right now, and I don't want to keep you up screaming all night. I'll come over for dinner soon, okay?"

His mother accepts the olive branch readily, putting a hand on his where it rests on his thigh. "Of course, Malcolm." She strokes his hair back from his face. "You look so tired. Whatever you need to sleep, my dear. Anything you need. Always."

Malcolm feels like a manipulative jackass. He'd never have told his mother how he's feeling, except… he really didn't want to spend the night in her house. Her obsessive need to  _ fix _ him is cloying, uncomfortable. Which is why he knew she'd take the bait gratefully. She's also terrified of losing him.

"Thanks, mom," he tells her softly, kissing her cheek. "It's not you I'm avoiding, I swear. I do love you." And at least half of that was true, he reminds himself. For all her faults, he does love his mother.

"I love you too, dear. Now, let me at least stop at the market for some quick snacks for you- we'll worry about stocking the fridge tomorrow, but I don't want you going hungry tonight. Adolpho, let's stop at that lovely little market on fourth, please," she calls. "Then we'll be taking Malcolm to his loft."

When they arrive at the market, his mother insists he stay in the car. "You're exhausted, darling. You just wait here, I know exactly what you need "

Malcolm sighs, but lets his mother fuss. When she drops him off at his loft, he takes his carry-on, Sunshine's cage, and his bag of 'snacks' upstairs to get settled, waving off Adolpho's offer of help and his mother's of company.

Despite his mom's insistance that the loft wasn't ready, it's obviously been cleaned recently. The sheets are fresh, and there's not a speck of dust anywhere. He hooks Sunshine's cage in its usual spot and lays out his meds and affirmation cards, hanging up the few clothes he's brought with him (not that the closet in the loft doesn't have enough to see him through a few days), before sighing and returning to where he's left the results of his mother's shopping on the counter.

He's surprised by what he finds. Sparkling water, obviously. He puts it in the refrigerator. A chicken gnocchi soup that, honestly, looks amazing, and like something his stomach will be able to handle, which he leaves out to microwave. She's also gotten him a croissant, a few bananas, and some egg bites, so he's got options for breakfast. He grins when he pulls out a package of his favorite imported licorice. But there's one more thing- Malcolm pulls it out, and immediately resolves to apologize to his mom tomorrow. Because she's gotten him a little limoncello custard dessert, and there's a note on top- 'They only had orange and lime Jello. I'll make you some and bring it by tomorrow.'

His mother is  _ not _ a cook. She's only slightly more comfortable in the kitchen than she would be visiting Dr. Whitley in his cell. But there's two things she never fails to make for him: tea and Jello. There's a very short list of foods Malcolm tolerates on bad days, anyway, but no matter how terrible he's feeling, he's never turned down his mother's lemon Jello. She makes it 'fizzy', with sparkling water- special, just for him.

This is what he's forgotten, of home. Not the weapons on the walls or the view out his window. The way people slip back into his life, like sliding on a well worn coat. The casual intimacy of having people in your day to day life who love you and  _ know _ who you are.

Speaking of people who really know him- his phone chimes.

_ Mom says you're home _ . Ainsley's text reads.

_ I am. Coffee tomorrow? _ he offers, hopeful. He doesn't want to interrupt her life, but he misses his sister.

_ Same as always? Noon? _ Ainsley answers, and he agrees easily, looking forward to seeing her.

That's his mom and Ainsley sorted, and Malcolm picks up his phone, scrolling to Gil's contact before setting it aside. Telling Ains will be hard enough. He can't face Gil, just yet.

Gil will want to know what happened. He'll reassure Malcolm that all the bitterness they flung at him at the end about how he's like his father was just that, but… honestly, Malcolm gave them grounds, and he knows it. He  _ punched _ an LEO.  _ Gil _ is an LEO. NYPD, not some podunk sheriff's department, but still- Gil has had FBI insert themselves in his cases, before. He'll empathise with the sheriff for sure.

And he's  _ only _ been scolding Malcolm about being kind and thinking about people not just puzzles for  _ two thirds of his life _ . Gil taught him better. Malcolm  _ knows _ better. And he hates the idea of looking his surrogate father in the eye and admitting he's fucked up and lost the only thing in his life that really meant something. He doesn't care if he gets in trouble- he just doesn't want Gil to be disappointed in him.

Gil and Jackie had been so proud, when he was accepted to Quantico. Martin had been furious at being left behind and his mother's reaction had been almost as bad, but Gil and Jackie had been  _ thrilled _ . He'd had a picture of the three of them the day he finished training hanging up in his old apartment. Gil had been pulling him close, eyes full of pride, and beside them, Jackie had looked on with such maternal joy and satisfaction-  _ this is my family, things are good _ \- that he'd had to take the picture down when he got home the day they fired him. He can't believe he ruined something that made them look at him like that.

Ruined it by forgetting a lesson Gil's been drilling into him since he was eleven years old.  _ Play nice with others _ . If it'd been his first offence, he probably would have gotten away with it, as a heat of the moment thing. But he'd been suspended, a year and a half before, over a similar scene.

He'd lost his temper, again when one of the local guys shot someone for no reason- this suspect hadn't even used guns, he'd preferred poison, he'd picked up a knife when Malcolm cornered him, but it was obvious his heart wasn't in it. And still, some twenty year old uniform decided to be a 'hero' and shoot him dead.

Malcolm hadn't punched him. Not at first, anyway. He'd screamed at him, called the kid a murderer. But when the younger man had shoved him, calling him a 'serial killer sympathizer', Malcolm had lost it and hit him.

Unfortunately, his Unit Chief had been on site, due to a personal connection to the area. Doubly unfortunately, the uniform Malcolm had punched was an old friend of the Chief's nephew. So he'd been suspended, then and there.

And he'd still been wired enough on adrenaline and indignation that he'd called Gil to vent. Gil had  _ not _ made him feel better. He had not been on Malcolm's side- far from it. Malcolm shudders at the memory.

"You're headed straight to the airport. They've said you don't set foot in the office for a week, well, call your bird sitter, you are going to be spending that week here. And we  _ will _ have a talk about impulse control and how your words affect others, Malcolm. The rule about getting suspended works just as well for the FBI as it did the Albany Academy," Gil had warned him darkly.

"Gil, no, come on, please," Malcolm had tried to plead his case, but Gil was having none of it.

"Bright. Airport. Now." Gil had told him matter of a factly, ending the call.

Malcolm had never dreaded a plane ride quite that much. Not the ride, really, but what awaited him when he landed. He had plenty of clothes in New York, and he'd been working out of a small town in Pennsylvania and already had luggage with him, anyway, so he flew straight to New York, without detouring to Virginia. He checked out of his motel, called the bird sitter from the taxi, and he was on his way home to face the music.

Gil wasn't home from work yet when the taxi Malcolm had taken from La Guardia dropped him off, so he used the key he'd carried for years and let himself in, leaving his bags in his bedroom and deciding to fix dinner. He figured it was the least he could do, given that he'd messed up Gil's week. He wondered if spending the week 'here' meant literally here or if he'd be staying at the loft- if Gil was serious about the bedtime spankings, it probably made more sense to be under the same roof. Still, Gil was obviously pissed at him. Pissed enough that Malcolm was too unsure of his welcome to unpack.

Nightly spankings when he got himself suspended had been a rule Gil instituted when he was in middle school, and he'd repeatedly gotten into fights- though Malcolm had always thought it unfair, since  _ he _ wasn't the one making things physical. It had definitely made pushing people to their limit when they made him mad a less appealing prospect.

Malcolm shudders, deliberately ignoring the spoon hanging on the wall as he gets out ingredients for dinner. He immediately begins working from a recipe Jackie'd taught him by heart- a chicken and rice bake he knows Gil likes. It's heavier than he'd usually eat by himself- but, in trouble or not, something about being  _ home _ (the Arroyo's, not NYC, he admits in the safety of his own mind) settles him enough that he feels like his stomach can handle it.

Malcolm has dinner finished and waiting in the oven on low (one of the reasons Jackie had made it so often- he doesn't know when Gil is coming home, and it can sit for  _ hours _ ) and is leaning against the counter, fidgeting with his phone, when he hears Gil pull up.

He busies himself with getting out dishes, nerves mounting at actually seeing the man who is so annoyed with him. He  _ hates _ disappointing Gil.

"Ooh, something smells  _ amazing _ . Did you make dinner? Malcolm?" Gil calls as he comes in. Malcolm ducks his head, putting the plates down on the counter.

Gil wraps a warm hand around the back of his neck, tugging him into a hug. "It's good to see you, kid," he says, holding him close, and Malcolm can't help it, he falls apart, just a little.

"Gil!" he groans, burying his face in his mentor's shoulder and fisting his hands desperately in the other man's jacket. He's not sure what he expected when Gil walked in the door, but some of the anxious tension immediately leaves him at being  _ held _ .

Malcolm is touch starved. Any idiot could guess that. He knows, logically, that some of his reaction is pure need for contact. He'd worked over Christmas this winter, so it's been nearly a year since he was home- since he was around people who would want to touch him, or who he lets into his space.

More than that, he'd been badly shaken by how unhappy Gil was with him, on the phone earlier. Part of it is because he'd been so wired, he hadn't  _ realized _ he'd screwed up until Gil told him. It's obvious  _ now _ , of course- he knows better than to hit his co-workers, no matter what they say. He'd had the whole flight to replay Gil's lectures on the subject of how to treat other people in his head, a loop he couldn't shut off, even as he cooked.

So, functionally, from Malcolm's perspective, Gil has been chewing him out for the last several hours. And now  _ actual _ Gil is  _ actually _ in front of him, and Malcolm doesn't know what to do with the affection. He's been so braced for the reprimand, he's completely wrong footed by it not coming first.

He's screwed up since leaving for the FBI, of course. But never so badly Gil  _ ordered him home _ for punishment. This won't be the first time Gil's spanked him since he became an adult, but Malcolm thinks it may be the worst he's ever screwed up. He's a little afraid that changes things- not that Gil would ever hurt him, but that his surrogate father thinks less of him now. That screwing up so badly, on something Gil's been teaching him for  _ years _ , will convince Gil he's wasting his time, looking out for a serial killer's kid.

But Malcolm isn't sure how to say any of that, or even if Gil cares. "Gil," he repeats, hating how pitiful he sounds.

"Hey, kid, hey, deep breath, you're okay. I've got you. You're home safe, Malcolm, just breathe," Gil coaches, tugging one of Malcolm's hands from where it's fisted in his jacket to rest on his chest, so Malcolm can mirror his breaths.

Malcolm hadn't even realized his breathing had gotten fast and shallow. He mirrors Gil, feeling himself relax further as his breathing slows.

"Will that be okay for a few more minutes?" Gil asks, gesturing his head towards the oven. Malcolm nods. "Then I think we need to talk," Gil tells him.

Malcolm reluctantly lets himself be untangled and led by the hand into the living room. He's confused- he's pretty sure Gil is about to punish him, and this isn't how things usually go.

Gil sits down on the couch and pulls Malcolm to join him. "Okay, kid, talk to me. How long have you been like this?" he asks.

"Panicking? Since I called you and I realized what I'd done. And how mad you were," Malcolm tells him easily.

"No, spiraling. You have to have been in pretty bad shape to punch a cop, in the first place. Was it the case?" Gil asks.

"No, it was a simple one. In and out. I'd only been in town three days," Malcolm tells him.

"Then what the hell happened, kid?" Gil asks, his tone making it clear that Malcolm better come up with an answer, quick.

Malcolm takes a breath to think, and sits back, shocked. He  _ has _ been sliding further and further toward manic, the past few weeks. Just like earlier, it took Gil's reaction to make him notice, but now he traces the clear path from sitting here, panicking, to punching a cop, to yelling at Collette in the break room two weeks ago, to the simmering tension under his skin he's been all but ignoring. He has no clue what's set it off. Work has been good, he's been busy, and successful, lately. That's what set Collette off- he's been criss-crossing the country solving cases none of the others could crack, lately.

"I don't know," he admits with difficulty. "Things have been good, but I guess it all kind of snuck up on me and just got to be too much."

"We haven't really talked in a couple of months, kid, so I didn't realize. I shouldn't have let you go so long with just texts. I knew you were busy, and I've been so proud of all the cases you're solving," Gil tells him.

That's  _ it,  _ Malcolm realizes. He's been going non-stop for months, without even a couple of hours downtime to call home and check in. He'd cancelled his trip back for a long weekend for his birthday, the same as he had Christmas, because he had a case. "I've been running hot for a while, now," he tells Gil. "There's always another case."

"You've forgotten how to pace yourself," Gil realizes.

"I've never known how to pace myself, Gil. I just got too far away from you, where you couldn't remind me," Malcolm admits, embarrassed. It's true- he doesn't know when to stop, to shut down, to take a break for food or not open that new case file until he's had at least one night of marginally decent sleep. Gil has always been the voice on the other end of the line, coaxing him to do those things.

"That's why I wanted you home this week. I didn't realize it was this bad, but I knew you were wound tight," Gil tells him.

_ Oh _ . "I thought you were just that mad," Malcolm confides.

"No, kid. You're not required to be anywhere for a few days, so you're home. You're also in trouble for getting yourself suspended, but those are two different things," Gil tells him. "You  _ needed _ to come home for a little while."

Gil is right. "When you hugged me earlier- it's been at least a year since somebody just… touched me because they wanted to. Because they care about me," Malcolm admits. "I mean, I shake hands… and punch people. But…"

"Kid. You can't let it get this bad," Gil tells him.

"I didn't mean to," Malcolm whines. "I can't just  _ not catch _ serial killers because I want a  _ hug _ ," he insists. "I couldn't take off and come up here when I had an active case."

"Then next time, call me when it starts getting to be too much, and if you can't get away I'll come down there," Gil promises.

Malcolm stares at him. "You haven't taken leave since…" he swallows. "Since Jackie died."

"I didn't need to. I'm not going on a vacation by myself. I'd rather be here working. But if you need me- that's  _ always _ worth taking time off for. Next time, you call me, and as soon as I can wrap up my active cases, I'll be there," Gil promises. "You're my kid," he reminds Malcolm gently. "You matter."

Malcolm nods. Gil turns his back toward the arm of the couch, wrapping a hand around the back of Malcolm's neck and tugging him forward, until he's resting against Gil's chest as Gil leans back, the way he used to lay on him when he was a kid. Malcolm is too old for this, he's pretty sure, but just being safe in Gil's arms is too good a feeling to pass up.

"Shh, I've got you," Gil soothes. "We've both had a long day. Let's sit here for a few minutes before we go have dinner, okay?"

"Yeah, Gil. Thanks," Malcolm says, snuggling close.

Malcolm actually winds up falling asleep on Gil, who lets him rest for close to an hour before rousing him for dinner. They set the table and eat companionably, moving around each other with long practice. Malcolm has gotten Jackie's recipe right, and they reminesce about her teaching him to cook as they eat.

After dinner, Malcolm starts to help with the dishes, but Gil puts a hand on his arm to pause him. "Why don't you go wait for me in your room, and I'll deal with these?" Gil suggests, his tone firm.

Malcolm gulps. "Yes, sir." He glances at the spoon on the wall, silently asking.

Gil shakes his head minutely. "Go get my belt and take it with you," he instructs. Quaking, Malcolm obeys.

There's a soft, wide black leather belt in Gil's closet that he doesn't wear anymore. Not since he'd casually rested a hand on his hip while scolding a teenage Malcolm in a bodega after a stakeout and he'd flipped out. Gil had quickly realized that  _ wearing _ the belt he uses on Malcolm when he's earned a strapping had somehow gotten Malcolm's wires crossed where he thought it was a threat, and he'd retired the belt without comment.

Now, Malcolm fetches it reluctantly, returning to his room and setting it down beside him as he sits on the bed. He  _ hates _ the belt. He hates whatever Gil is about to spank him with, but he especially hates the belt.

Gil doesn't make him wait long. Within a few minutes, he's coming into the room and sitting beside Malcolm. "Any questions, before we get started?" he asks. It's better not to let ideas sit unattended in Malcolm's head too long- he'll stress himself into a freakout instead of asking a simple question.

"If you're really going to… you know…" Gil gives him a questioning look and he says the words, "spank me every night this week, can I just stay here?"

"You are getting bedtime spankings while you're here. You've earned them, haven't you?" Malcolm nods. "And of course you can stay here, kid. I'd kind of assumed you would. Remember, being home isn't a punishment. I didn't tell you to get on a plane because I was pissed. I told you to get on a plane because you needed to come home."

Malcolm nods. "Time to get it over with?" he asks wryly. Gil nods, and Malcolm stands up. As he's gotten older, he's taken more responsibility for his spankings. He stripped down to his shirt and pants while he waited for Gil, and now he lowers his own pants and slips into place across Gil's lap.

No matter how old he gets, Gil always spanks Malcolm over his knee. Malcolm had tried to argue it was undignified, when he was in high school, but his surrogate dad hadn't budged. Well, they'd tried it with him over the desk one time, but they'd both been so shaken by the lack of contact that they'd gone back to their usual positions after the warm up. Gil has never pretended not to hate spanking Malcolm. He does it, and does it thoroughly, any time 'his kid' earns one, but Malcolm knows Gil hates hurting him.

So, Malcolm tries to be mature and accept his punishment. His  _ hatred _ of having his legs smacked contributes too, but mostly he tries to be good when he gets spanked because he doesn't want to make things harder on Gil.

Once he's settled into place, Gil asks him, "Why are you getting this spanking?"

Malcolm knows this one. He's been hyper-focussed on it for hours. "I hit that kid. He's barely old enough to be out on patrol, and he made a bad call. Me yelling and making him feel shitty didn't do anything to fix that, it just made him yell back. And then I escalated the situation and hit him," Malcolm tells his surrogate father softly.

"Very good, Malcolm. What else?" Gil asks, surprising him. Malcolm has no idea what else he's done wrong.

"I made the FBI look bad by losing my temper?" he guesses.

"No, kid," Gil tells him, a hint of a smile in his voice. "That would just be another way of saying the same thing you just said- I'm got gonna spank you twice for the same thing. Think, for me. What did you do, had you so on edge some kid on patrol could push you that far?"

_ Oh. _ Realization dawns, and along with it, awareness that this is going to be a  _ really _ bad spanking. "Oh, shit," he says quietly. He rarely curses, but it escapes without him realizing it as he gets Gil's meaning. "I didn't take care of myself. I spent close to a month spiraling, falling apart, because I wouldn't stop and ask for help."

"Exactly right, kid. When you're out there where I can't drop by and check on you, I need to be able to trust you to take care of yourself," Gil scolds. Then, he starts spanking.

For someone who hates hurting his surrogate son, Gil is awfully good at delivering a memorable spanking. During what he calls the warm up, he spreads stinging hand spanks all over Malcolm's bottom, the sting as hard to endure in its own way as the harder blows that will come later.

Physiologically, Malcolm knows Gil is starting off light to get the blood moving, so he doesn't have to worry about bruising him when he spanks harder. Gil is careful with him, always.

But for someone that has been punched, kicked, and tased on the job lately but hasn't been spanked in well over a year, starting with the stinging spanks is just  _ mean. _

Malcolm's pain tolerance is better than this, he swears it is, but within a minute of the light spanks-  _ kid's  _ spanks, Malcolm tells himself derisively- he feels like his whole backside is being stung by bees, over and over. He clenches his cheeks against the sting, but that just makes it sharper, so he forces himself to relax. Only then Gil gives him a really good whack to his sit spots, and he can't help clenching again.

There is  _ nothing he can do _ to make the spanking hurt less. If he tries to stop Gil, he'll just get his thighs spanked. If he struggles, Gil will just hold him down. He's trapped. He can do nothing but accept the punishing slaps, and the sting growing in his rear end.

When he's pretty sure he's going to explode- he can't keep his legs still anymore and he's whimpering despite his best efforts when Gil's hand finds an especially sensitive spot- Gil pauses, rubbing his back as he tells him, "Good, Malcolm, you're doing good, kid."

Malcolm soaks up the praise. Gil doesn't care if he can't be quiet or still, he's doing good. When Gil gently tugs his briefs down, Malcolm resists the urge to stop him and only lifts his hips, so Gil can get them out of the way.

"Why is it important to call when you're feeling overloaded?" Gil asks, bringing his hand down with a firm smack. It's much louder, without his underwear. And it doesn't seem possible that it hurts so much more, without the thin cotton. Malcolm doesn't answer, and Gil spanks him again. He whines, tensing his stomach and trying to pull his bottom away from the burning spanks. But Gil's lap holds him firmly in place.

Malcolm shakes his head. He knows he goes through this shock every time he's spanked, but he really  _ can't  _ think through the heat building in his behind.

"Yes, Malcolm. You're going to answer me. Do you need extra spanks to remind you who's in charge, here?" Gil asks him patiently. Malcolm shakes his head again, but Gil hasn't paused the spanks, and when one catches him right at the bottom of his right cheek, he kicks out his foot, groaning through gritted teeth.

"Last chance, Malcolm," Gil tells him regretfully, waiting a beat for response before landing a hard spank on his right thigh, right below the blow that made him kick. He kicks both feet wildly in protest. Gil just lands a firm slap on the other thigh, implacable. 

Malcolm had been trying to be good, but having his legs smacked always undoes him. He kicks and yelps frantically as Gil spanks, never letting up. Malcolm is sure these spanks are twice as hard as the ones he was getting on his bottom.

Gil's going to keep spanking his legs forever. Malcolm will die of old age over his surrogate dad's lap, getting his thighs spanked over and over by that hard, implacable hand. He's going to finish being suspended and his boss will call to find out where he is, and he'll hear Gil just spanking and spanking him, and Malcolm will be a laughing stock.

Just as Malcolm is starting to panic at the never ending spanking, Gil asks again, "Why do you call home when you start getting overloaded?"

"Ask for help!" Malcolm wails, miserable. "Need you, and Ains, and Jackie, and Mom when I can't do it all!" Gil's swing falters, and it takes Malcolm a second to realize what he's said.

"Sorry, Gil. You and Ains and Mom, I mean. I didn't mean to…" he tries to apologize.

"No, kid, you're fine," Gil tells him, returning to spanking- though thankfully, he's moved back up to Malcolm's sore cheeks. "We all need her, sometimes, kid, there's no shame in that."

The loss in Gil's voice makes Malcolm feel terrible. Sure, they all need her. But he doesn't have to go rubbing Gil's face in it. Partially as penance, partially to distract Gil from the thought, he offers up, "I have to call you when things first start slipping because, owww, by the time I'm spiraling-oof!- I don't see what's happening and I can't see that I need h-help. So I can't just avoid you when I'm busy, because then- ohhhh, oh!- no one will know I'm in bad shape till it's too late."

Malcolm is privately amazed that he got that little bit of analysis out as his butt is being roasted. Gil does not seem suitably impressed. "That's exactly right, Malcolm. No more dodging calls. No more going to ground when things are rough. You can't. Somebody without the trauma that's happened to you might be able to get through a rough patch by putting their head down and ignoring the world, but you  _ can't _ . You need a support system," Gil scolds.

Malcolm nods. "I'll call!" he promises as Gil rains down spanks.

"Now, what about the cop?" Gil asks.

"I can't go off the rails when somebody- owww, Gil!- screws up. I've gotta stay calm and let the- oooh, ow- let the brass handle it. AND NO HITTING!" Malcolm yelps the last of it as his surrogate father focuses his attention on Malcolm's sit spots.

"That's right. No picking fights and no hitting, Malcolm, we have had this conversation before," Gil scolds. "I know you know better."

Malcolm is fast losing his battle with tears, and the hard, low volley that accompany that pronouncement push him over the edge. He wraps a hand around Gil's leg, needing something to hold on to, and cries as Gil continues punishing him.

_ Finally _ , Gil pauses. Malcolm would be relieved if he didn't know what's coming next. He hears Gil pick up the belt, the buckle jangling before being safely tucked out of the way in Gil's hand.

"You deserve twenty with the belt for the fight, easily. But you also deserve a strapping for ignoring and avoiding all of us while you spiraled," Gil scolds. "How long would you say it's been, since you started slipping?"

Malcolm is terribly aware of where this question is going. He swallows hard, voice still teary as he says, "Close to a month, easily."

Gil takes a breath, considering. "Okay, we're going to call it three weeks, since you really should've known you needed somebody. Instead of giving you all of those plus what you earned for the fight at once, we're going to do the fight now and tack three with the belt onto each bedtime spanking," Gil decides.

Malcolm whines low in his throat, but doesn't protest. He knows he fucked up.

The first lick with the belt takes his breath away. He tries to count down, but the screaming pain in his backside is too intense and he keeps losing track. He's pretty sure he's had at least a hundred when Gil finally stops.

"C'mon, Mal, that's all twenty, we're done for now, kid," Gil tells him, tugging him gently to get him to sit up. Malcolm can't figure out why his body isn't following Gil's commands until he remembers his death grip on his surrogate father's leg, sheepishly letting go.

Gil pulls his underwear up for him before helping him kneel upright. As soon as he's up, Malcolm  _ plasters  _ himself to Gil's chest. "I'm sorry, sorry! I know better, I do! I just get so caught up- I'm sorry!" he tells Gil.

"Shhh, kid, all forgiven. Spankings over and you're forgiven. We'll get through the bedtime spankings and that'll be the end of it, I promise. You're okay. I've got you and I forgive you, Malcolm," Gil assures him, and Malcolm just clings, relieved.

When he's done crying and feeling enough better to detatch from Gil and stand up, Malcolm fixes his pants. Gil stands as well, pulling him in for another hug and kissing his hair. "My brave boy," he praises.

Malcolm preens under the attention. "Can we watch a movie?" he asks hopefully. He wants an excuse to snuggle on the couch.

Gil considers him. " _ Not _ a long one. Some of us have to work in the morning," Gil reminds him, "and we'll have one more thing to take care of before bed."

Malcolm shudders. He rarely screws up badly enough that Gil institutes bedtime spankings, but when he does, the first night is always murder. Getting a bedtime spanking on top of the 'big' spanking is pure torture, and tonight he has the belt to look forward to, too!

He considers trying to talk Gil out of it- given how late it is, he could maybe talk him into a reprieve- but he knows he earned every swat, and it's been so long since he saw Gil, he doesn't want to disappoint the other man again by not accepting his punishment.

So Malcolm sighs, and follows Gil to the couch. Gil puts on the Princess Bride, an old favorite, and then matter of a factly settles with his shoulders against the arm of the couch, holding a hand out for Malcolm- who settles on his stomach without hesitation, propped up with his head on Gil's chest. God, he's missed his surrogate father.

Malcolm has seen the Princess Bride dozens of times, so he spends the movie more focused on being  _ home _ than anything. He snuggles into Gil, letting himself relax as all of his senses tell him he's safe. He's with Gil, in the one place from his childhood he's ever truly felt safe since his father was arrested.

Tension that's been building for  _ weeks _ slowly drifts out of Malcolm as he sits with Gil. Eventually, he doses off, warm and secure and  _ safe _ . He naps for another hour, and when he wakes up, he's surprised to realize that yet again, he's slept without night terrors- it's like the dreams can't get him, with Gil there.

That also means that the sleep he's had this evening is better than any he's gotten all week, so he's reluctant to get up when the movie ends and Gil begins prodding him.

"Tired," he whines as Gil pokes him.

"I know. That's why we are going to get up, get your bedtime spanking taken care of, and go to sleep. Real sleep, not napping on the couch," Gil insists.

"Sleep better here anyway," Malcolm grumbles, annoyed, as he gets up.

Gil smiles at him. "I'm glad you got some sleep. We'll see what we can do to make sleeping easier this week, okay?"

Martin looks down, embarrassed. "I'll sleep better, just being home," he admits quietly.

Gil wraps a hand around the back of his neck, not trying to coax him to look up, just holding him. Malcolm can't quantify how much that steady touch means to him. "I'm glad, kid," Gil says, "I'm glad."

They separate in the hall, each going to get ready for bed. Malcolm changes into pajama pants and a t-shirt, then reluctantly sits to wait for Gil. He doesn't have to wait long.

Gil is also dressed for bed- it's not entirely impossible that Malcolm will fall asleep on him, when they're done. Malcolm stands, nervous in spite of himself, and Gil takes a seat in the middle of the bed. "C'mere, kid," he says gently, and Malcolm comes to stand in front of him.

Gil unfastens the drawstring on Malcolm's sleep pants, and Malcolm shifts from foot to foot. He's  _ thirty _ . He shouldn't feel like a little boy, standing here between his dad's legs getting his pants pulled down. Still, he can't deny the quick, firm shove back into childhood he feels, having his pants taken down and being put over Gil's knee. He wonders if that's why the older man does it.

Gil rubs a soft hand across his back and tells him, "This spanking is for behaving so badly you got suspended at work, and for letting yourself get into that bad of shape without calling for help."

Bedtime spankings generally come with less discussion and scolding, which is just about the best thing Malcolm can say for them. They're reminders of the  _ big _ mistake he made, and Gil already covered that earlier. This spanking is just an extra consequence, to make repeating the behavior even less appealing.

Malcolm  _ knows _ Gil is going easy on him. Still, the first swat makes him jump like he's been scalded. "Gil!" he whines, desperate.

Gil gives him a dozen swats over his underwear, easily stoking the fire that had settled earlier back into a raging inferno. "Let's get these down," he prompts, "I think you're warm enough."

Malcolm whimpers as Gil pulls his briefs down. The next spank is going to be  _ so much _ worse. As glad as he is to be getting less spanks overall, he  _ really _ wishes most of this spanking weren't going to be bare. He's never had a bedtime spanking that didn't happen on his bare bottom- Gil says if he's behaved badly enough to earn more than one spanking, he definitely shouldn't be surprised to get them with his pants down. Malcolm hates it, anyway.

Gil's hand comes back down, and it's exactly as bad as Malcolm expected. He's  _ definitely _ in worse shape now than he was at the end of his spanking earlier. He  _ hates _ bedtime spankings! But he knows better than to voice that complaint to Gil, so he tries to keep quiet, clinging to Gil's leg as the sting builds unbearably.

He can't stay quiet anymore, and soon yelping at every spank turns into a steady stream of sobbing pleas. He doesn't even know what he's saying anymore when Gil pauses.

"Just the three for not asking for help, and we're done," Gil warns him. He reaches out to put a settling hand on the back of Malcolm's neck, stroking softly with his thumb. "It's almost over, kid, you can do this."

Malcolm is very sure that he  _ cannot _ . But he's fortified by Gil's faith in him anyway, and he takes a big, shuddery breath, tightening his hold on Gil's lower leg and nodding.

Gil lands all three fast- they probably take about thirty seconds. It's  _ definitely  _ the worst thirty seconds Malcolm has experienced today. He  _ howls _ through the blows, panting hard once they're over. He's out of breath and sweaty and unbearably shaky, and then Gil fixes his pants for him- Malcolm is so done in he can't even cry harder when the fabric brushes his skin- and gently pries Malcolm's fingers from their place on his leg, so he can tug Malcolm up into his arms.

Malcolm somehow winds up in Gil's lap, tucked so his backside isn't touching anything. He wants to tell Gil he's too big for this now, but he's crying too hard, so he settles for a shuddery groan of protest, which Gil (thankfully) ignores. He's feeling very eleven years old, tonight. He briefly reflects that, whoever said you can't go home, they didn't have somebody like Gil to make their home worth going back to.

Remembering it now, Malcolm wonders if that's still true, or if he's found the limit- the fuck-up you can't come home from. He quickly squashes the thought- seeing Gil will be the best thing about coming back to New York. He loves his mom and Ainsley, but they don't mean  _ safe _ and  _ home _ for him, quite the way Gil does. 

Malcolm is a lot more secure, or maybe just aware of the mess in his own head, than he was a year and a half ago. He's like, 80% sure Gil will still love him. 70% on the outside. He's almost positive the voice in his brain that says Gil will give up on him when he hears is rabid insecurity and trust issues caused by his warped upbringing, rather than anything rooted in fact.

Relatively sure. Almost positive.

Telling himself it's the epic lecture, not to mention the spanking he's sure to get when Gil hears that has him avoiding his surrogate father, not any fear about the security of his place in Gil's life, Malcolm resolves to call him once he's talked to Ainsley. Or after he attends the dinner he's promised his mom he'll make it to this week. Soon. Just… not yet.


End file.
